


Like Water

by ignipes



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-22
Updated: 2006-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is jealous. Dean is amused. They are both dirty. They go for a swim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Water

The woman squinted at Dean through coke-bottle glasses. "No water," she said, and she began to close the door.

"Wait--" Dean jammed his foot into the doorway, wincing when she leaned on the door. "What do you mean, no water? You have bathrooms, don't you?"

"No water tonight," she replied. "It's off." Her eyes narrowed and she sniffed, glancing distastefully from his muddy boots to the grime and slime dried in his hair. "Got a problem with that?"

Dean looked past her into the living room of the little house. Three hulking men were watching the conversation suspiciously. In front on the television, a German shepherd was staring at Dean with something less than cuddly canine welcome. (Sam was convinced they were a family of campground cannibals; he had even spent two hours at the local library searching for news reports of mysterious deaths or disappearances in the area.)

Dean nodded at the gorilla brothers and smiled at the woman. "No problem, ma'am," he said. "We were just hoping for a shower, that's all."

He moved his foot, and she slammed the door in his face.

Glaring at the door, Dean muttered, "Good night to you, too," and turned away, kicking at a tuft of grass in annoyance. Sleeping in the car or on the ground, bugs everywhere, weird-ass freaks getting all excited about _nature_, and grumpy campground owners who turned off the water in the middle of a summer night just for the hell of it -- he really hated camping.

He trudged back toward the bathroom building, where Sam was leaning against the whitewashed wall, his arms crossed over his chest. Both the men's and ladies' doors were open; Sam must have picked the padlocks in his impatience.

"No water," Dean said.

"I noticed."

"So no showers." Dean reached up and scratched at his neck, flaking away bits of dried mud and swamp creature slime. He felt like a golem, slowly hardening into a blobby statue in the warm night air. "This sucks out loud."

Sam snorted and his lips twisted into a sneer. "You should have gone with Marvin and Susie if you wanted a shower so bad. I'm sure they would have been happy to oblige. Probably even wash your back for you."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, whatever, it's just--"

Sam pushed by him, jostling Dean's shoulder with a little more force than necessary, and stomped -- he actually _stomped_, like he was fucking fourteen again -- down the dirt path that led to their campsite.

With a sigh, Dean followed. It was the middle of the week and the campground was only half-full. It looked like just about everybody else had gone to sleep. They were parked at the end of the long loop that curved along the edge of the lake, far enough from the lights around the house and office that it really felt like they were in the middle of nowhere.

When Dean reached the campsite, Sam was standing at the trunk of the Impala, noisily unloading his duffel bag into the trunk, slamming each weapon down with more force than the last. Dean switched on his flashlight and shone it in Sam's face. His eyes were mere slits and his mouth was set in a tight line.

He swiped angrily at the flashlight and smacked Dean's hand away. "Stop that, asshole."

"That time of the month again, Sammy?"

"Bite me." Sam wrenched the wedged shotgun out of place and let the false bottom of the trunk fall down. He stalked away again -- still _stomping_, the overgrown geek -- and flung himself dramatically onto the picnic table bench.

"Seriously, man." Dean followed him, fascinated; it was like watching a nightmare premiere of _Sam Winchester's Teenage Years: The Sequel_. "What the hell has your panties in a bunch?"

There was that snort again. "Like you don't know."

"Uh, yeah. I don't know."

Sam rolled his eyes toward the starlit sky and sent his voice well into the falsetto range when he answered: "'Oh, Dean, thank you so much for saving our lives! How can we ever repay you? We've never been saved from a swamp monster from somebody so strong and manly as you!'" Sam's voice dropped, and in a fake lisping alto he went on, "'That's right, old buddy, old pal, why don't you let Susie and I take you back to our hotel room and make it worth your while. Me and the wife, we're a little adventurous, if you know what I mean. Can you teach me how to--'"

Dean decided he had better interrupt before Sam really got going. "Yeah, so? They were grateful. Big deal."

He couldn't deny that Marvin and Susie had been _very_ grateful. More grateful than he'd thought any married couple could be, to be honest, but hey, they met all kinds in this job. It wasn't like Sam would've been any happier if he'd shut them down by saying, "Hey, guys, thanks for the offer, but I'm fucking my little brother here and I seriously doubt you can suck cock better than he can. How's that for adventurous?"

That would have gone over real well.

Dean shook his head. Besides, all that mattered was that the swamp monster was dead, the open-minded Marvin and Susie would live to canoe another day, and he and Sam had suffered nothing more serious than bruises and trashed clothes.

But Sam wasn't finished. "Grateful? Yeah, _grateful_. No shit, dumbass," he went on, biting off each word sharply. "They were _so_ grateful. So fucking grateful they wanted your dick to serve as their own goddamned personal marriage counselor."

Dean bit his lip before replying; it was always something of a surprise to hear Sam let loose a string of cuss words like that. It usually meant that he was actually upset about something.

And, Dean had to admit, it was kind of hot.

"Sam," he began slowly, trying not to smile, "were you _jealous_?"

Sam's jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

"You _were_. You were jealous that it was my bones they wanted to jump instead of yours?" Okay, maybe he a crowing a little bit, but it wasn't like Sam didn't deserve it. "Dude, that is really fucking sad. What are you, a sixteen-year-old cheerleader? Besides, they didn't seem picky. I'm sure if you had volunteered, Marvin and Susie would have--"

"Fuck you, Dean. I wasn't the one fucking _slavering_ over Susie-Q's sports bra and offering to help Marvin clean the goddamned mud out of his _crotch_."

That wasn't quite how Dean remembered the evening, but he only shrugged and turned away. "Whatever, man. I'm going to get cleaned up."

"How are you going to do that? No showers, remember?"

"Don't need a shower when we've got a big fucking lake, Einstein."

He didn't wait for Sam to respond. There was a path that led from their campsite to the water, winding through the thick trees and down the slope to the muddy shore. Dean switched on his flashlight after he stumbled over roots and rocks a few times; he knew that he was the one stomping like a bratty teenager now, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

So maybe Sam was in a bad mood. Maybe Sam was suffering from some kind of fucked-up hormonal insecurity. It wasn't Dean's fault the idiot couldn't even be cheerful after a hunt where every fucking thing went right and nobody got killed or eaten or possessed or strangled or thrown into a brick wall or turned into a cucumber or anything.

It had been a _good day_, and he wasn't going to let Sam's piss-face mood ruin that.

He didn't let himself think about the fact that a good day for him meant -- well, he had no idea what it meant for Sam.

Dean left the trail and scrambled down to the lake, picking his way carefully along the water's edge toward a narrow beach at the base of a ten-foot rock face. There was no moon and he couldn't even see the lights from the campground around a knob of land jutting into the water, but there were other people in the campground, and he didn't want to risk giving every kid who got up to pee a surprise show. He hated it when kids started screaming about naked men.

He removed his boots, then stripped off his clothes and left them in a muddy heap. The night was hot and muggy, filled with the noise of forest insects and water lapping on the shore. Dean walked a few steps into the lake, letting the mud squelch under his feet and between his toes; it was a pleasant feeling, soft and cool.

The chill of the water was uncomfortable at first, but Dean didn't hesitate before plunging in and submerging himself completely. The water flowed over his skin, swift and smooth, as he took several long, slow strokes away from the shore, stopping only when he could just barely brush the muddy, weedy bottom with his toes. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the starlit sky, exhaling slowly and enjoying the cold water and warm night air.

Idly, almost absentmindedly, he began scrubbing at the dirt caked on his body, treading water unsteadily and rubbing his hands over his skin: arms and arms, neck and shoulders, hips and legs and back. He felt the annoyance run out of him slowly, floating away like the swamp monster slime in the dark water. He took a breath and ducked under, running his hands roughly through his hair.

When he came back up, Sam was on the shore.

In the dark, Dean couldn't tell whether Sam could see him or not; he kicked back a few strokes, splashing just enough to make his position known.

Sam stood unmoving for a moment, then he pulled his t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the ground, toed off his shoes and pushed his jeans and shorts down. Dean thought about calling out, shouting some stupid catcall or letting loose a wolf whistle. But when Sam straightened up again, he looked a little uncertain, glancing around as though he expected an army of peeping toms to leap out of the forest and tackle him to the ground, so Dean remained quiet.

Sam took several quick steps into the lake, his awkwardness falling away as he moved, and when he was in nearly to his waist he dove under the water in one long, graceful motion. Several seconds passed before he emerged again, a swift dark shape in the water, the faint starlight shining on his skin.

Dean smiled to himself and closed his eyes, floating motionless on his back and listening to Sam splash around about twenty feet away. His limbs felt heavy, tired with the satisfaction of a long day spent hunting. Swamp monsters were a bitch to find and you were sure to end up with mud in places it was better not to think about, but at least it was an honest fight. Muscle and weapons and blood and brains, strength and cunning, trails through the marsh and bullets through the heart, and there was another patch of wilderness where people no longer vanished and kids were no longer afraid to go. It was worth a little grit and a few bruises, and they deserved a night of peace and--

A hand closed around Dean's ankle and pulled him under the water.

He kicked wildly and broke away, came up spluttering and coughing. "You goddamned--"

"Gotcha." Sam's voice was low with laughter, just inches from Dean's ear.

"You got nothing." Dean shoved Sam away with an elbow in the gut, then turned around and launched himself onto Sam's back, hooking one arm around his neck and dunking his head under the water.

Sam flailed his arms wildly, grappling for a hold on Dean's wet skin. He managed a grip on Dean's forearms, broke free, and burst to the surface with a string of threats on his lips. Dean laughed and kicked backwards toward the shore where he could actually touch the bottom. Sam followed, using those huge paws of his to send waves of water at Dean with every stroke.

As soon as Dean's feet hit the slimy mud, he braced himself for another attack. Sam leapt at him immediately, all thrashing arms and legs and half-choking laughter, but Dean was ready for him. He dodged to the side and grabbed one of Sam's elbows just before it clipped his head, letting Sam's momentum do the rest. It didn't work quite the same as it did on dry land, but Sam overbalanced and splashed face-down into the shallow water. Dean didn't give him a reprieve, just jumped onto him, slipping and sliding over Sam's long back as he tried to hook his legs over Sam's shoulders and hold him down.

But Sam found a solid footing on the bottom and straightened up, grasped Dean's ankles and flipped him backwards. Dean instinctively flung out his arms to break his fall, even though the water did that for him, and when he hit the ground he grabbed two handfuls of mud. Breaking through the surface again, he threw it at Sam even before he could see what he was doing.

"You fucking prick!" Sam was trying to sound angry, but he was laughing so hard he didn't quite manage.

Dean brushed the water from his eyes and stood up. Sam was standing at the edge of the lake, ankle-deep in the churned-up water; his hair was plastered over his forehead and a big splotch of mud stuck in the center of his chest -- which rose and fell like a puffed-up rooster's with every breath. He was poised for another attack, arms up in a perfect defensive stance, legs slightly apart and water dripping over his chest and limbs, running in rivulets around his half-hard dick and down his long legs.

He looked completely ridiculous.

So Dean did the only thing he could possibly do: he thrashed through the water and took Sam down in a full-body tackle that would have made any pro linebacker proud.

Sam yelped in protest as he stumbled backward and his ass hit the ground with a noisy _splat_. He began gasping and wriggling and giggling -- Jesus fuck, actually _giggling_ \-- as Dean wrestled him to the ground. It was fucking hard to find any kind of grip; his feet and knees and elbows kept slipping and sinking in the ground, and his hands slid over Sam's skin like oil over water as they rolled together on the mud, each breathless gasp bringing another fit of laughter until Dean thought his lungs would burst.

He made one wrong move, though, one feint too slow, and Sam caught him. He flipped Dean onto his back, pinning Dean's wrists to the ground and straddling his chest.

"Gotcha." Sam was grinning so wide it looked like his face was going to split in two.

All at once everything was quiet and still.

They were both panting, short hard breaths Dean could feel in the cool, slick motion between them. His chest rose and fell between Sam's thighs. Sam was panting as he slid down slowly, slowly, until their hips were aligned and Sam's mouth was just inches away from his own.

"Sam--" Dean began, but the rest of the sentence caught in his throat. His hands were still pinned over his head -- _fucking ape-man arms, no fair using them like that_ \-- but he rolled his hips, rolling up to brush his erection against Sam's and groaning when Sam pressed against him.

Sam leaned down, brushed his lips over the curve of Dean's ear, and whispered, "Is that a water snake in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Dean's hopeful moan turned into a surprised, uncontrollable burst of laughter. "Jesus Christ, you have--"

Sam interrupted him with a kiss, quick and playful, and Dean could feel the wicked smile against his lips.

He tried again, "You--"

A long, slow lick along Dean's jaw, and Sam's breath was warm, uneven, filled with barely suppressed laughter and impatience.

"--have the--"

And there was that teasing thing he did with his tongue, short, quick motions working his way into Dean's mouth.

"--absolute worst--"

Sam tasted like dirt and lake water, sweat and salt, and he was still -- _god_, what a fucking lunatic, but Dean could feel it, the wide, easy curve of his mouth -- smiling.

"--lines," Dean finished when Sam broke away, and he was only a little proud of himself for managing a complete sentence.

"Yeah?" Sam's voice was low and rough; he was moving his hips gently, barely a motion at all but enough to brush their cocks together and scramble Dean's brain so that it took a few seconds for his next words to sink in. "Maybe I should have asked Marvin and Susie for some better ones."

Dean stared at him in confusion. "What the hell--"

Sam was fast. He let go of Dean's wrists and grasped Dean's head between his hands in one quick, smooth motion. He leaned down so close that water from his hair dripped on Dean's face and his lips brushed against Dean's when he spoke. His smile was gone.

"I didn't like the way they looked at you," Sam whispered.

He didn't give Dean a chance to respond. Sam closed his mouth over Dean's in a crushing kiss, hungry and desperate, no longer playful and not at all gentle. Dean reached up and twisted his hands into Sam's hair, and Sam made a noise low in his throat, a half-wild moan that vibrated between them, but he didn't pull back, didn't pause, didn't do anything except keep kissing Dean like it was the only fucking thing that mattered in the world.

Sam broke away and held himself perfectly still, poised just above Dean, breathless and panting, his lips parted and his eyes dark and narrow.

Dean licked his lips and took a ragged breath. "Sam..."

Sam lowered his head again and kissed a line along Dean's jaw, licking and sucking down his neck and over his collarbone. He skated his teeth over one of Dean's nipples and slid down, hands and mouth tracing a path across his chest and stomach. He wrapped one hand around the base of Dean's cock and swept his tongue over the head.

With a gasp, Dean let go of Sam's hair, pulled his arms back and propped himself up on his elbows. Sam looked up and met his eyes, and he paused, breath warm and fast on Dean's dick.

"Sam, _fuck_, don't--" Don't fucking _stop_, but there was that curve of a smile on Sam's lips again, that smile that meant he knew Dean was watching and waiting, and Sam was making him wait, was being a goddamned tease because Dean was so fucking hard it _hurt_ \-- then a long, slow lick along the underside and Sam took Dean's cock into his mouth, and _god_, he was so fucking perfect, eyes closed and damp hair falling over his eyes, lake water dripping over his hollowed cheeks, his mouth hot and wet and _goddamn_, where the hell did his tongue learn to do _that_\--

Dean arched his back and dug his fingers into the sand, barely feeling Sam's fingers digging into his hip to hold him down, and Sam -- fucking hell, _Sam_, Dean tried to gasp his name but only managed a strangled groan -- Sam was _humming_, low and rough. Sam hitched himself up and angled his head, taking Dean in deeper, the noise in his throat changing to a moan and -- _fuck_, that was too much -- Dean squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back and came.

Sam swallowed easily, sucking and lapping at Dean's dick until he collapsed onto the mud and reached out to twist one hand into Sam's hair. Sam pulled away, almost reluctantly, and crawled unsteadily upward. He leaned down and kissed Dean, propped up on one arm, the other hand around the back of Dean's neck. Dean could taste himself on Sam's tongue, could feel Sam's dick pressed hard and hot against his leg. He shifted slightly, pulled back just far enough to brush the sand off his hand, and wrapped it around Sam's cock, enjoying the surprised hiss of Sam's breath and jerk of his hips. He released his grip on Dean's neck and closed his hand over Dean's, pumping erratically until he came with a shuddering gasp and sunk to the ground beside Dean, his breath short and hard in Dean's ear, their fingers still twined together.

After a few minutes Sam moved away, rolled onto his back, the heat of his body suddenly gone.

Dean glanced at him. Even in the dark, there was no mistaking that expression on Sam's face.

The bastard was _proud_ of himself. Hands behind his head. Eyes gazing up at the sky. Chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm. Smiling.

_Smirking._

Fucking hell.

"So," Dean said, pleased that he managed to sound so calm for somebody whose brain had just been sucked out of his dick, "what do you think Marvin and Susie are up to right now?"

Sam laughed, all traces of his bad mood gone. "Fucking like bunnies," he replied, "each of them pretending that the other is you."

Dean turned his head to look at Sam, resting his cheek on the cool, rough mud. Sam was still looking upward, his eyes open, his dark hair plastered on his forehead, the long line of his neck and skin of his chest glistening with sweat and water. There was a smile playing on his lips, small, quiet, secret.

He seemed to feel Dean's eyes on him, and when he glanced over his smile grew into a broad grin. "What?"

Dean felt something tighten in his chest, but he didn't look away. "Jealous?"

With a snort, Sam turned back to the stars, still smiling. "You wish."


End file.
